


survivor

by wisterispidey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: !! pls be careful when reading this, ):, Female Skip Wescott, Gen, Past Sexual Abuse, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, he gets his hug dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisterispidey/pseuds/wisterispidey
Summary: Peter breathed.He was a survivor.(tw: mentions of child grooming, mentions of child molestation, and descriptions of panic attacks—please be careful before reading!)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 277





	survivor

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys—this is a work i wanted to post for sexual assault awareness month.
> 
> i was kinda hesitant on writing this (since i’ve never written for a heavy topic like this) but i went through with it because even though this is something that should _never_ happen to anyone, it still does.
> 
> please stay safe (especially during these hard times) and i love you.

**2008**  
—

The first time Peter met Stacy Wescott was at the park, after his babysitter—Ms. Martha—had left him by a bench. 

According to her, she had to make a _very_ important phone call, and that he had to stay _here_ by himself. 

And so he stayed, despite the fact both his aunt and uncle had told him to always be by Ms. Martha’s side whenever they went out.

Peter could hear kids laughing around him, and their smiles were bright as they ran around the park.

But he couldn’t bring himself to smile with them—he was alone and he didn’t know anybody around him. 

And he wasn’t a baby, he was _seven,_ yet he couldn’t help the tears that rolled down his face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He furiously wiped away any evidence that he’d been crying, and looked up at the stranger.

A part of Peter knew that he really shouldn’t be talking to a stranger, but he was scared, and he was also pretty sure that his babysitter wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

“Um, no,” Peter hiccuped, “no, I can’t find my babysitter anywhere.”

Peter looked down at his hands, silently counting from one to ten in his head—something Uncle Ben had suggested if he ever needed to calm down.

“Oh, buddy, I’m sorry.”

Peter looked up at the girl again, noticing how her blond hair was basically white under the sunlight. 

She looked like she was around Ms. Martha’s age, so probably 15, and she seemed way nicer than his babysitter could ever be.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Peter needed to get back home, and by now he knew his address by heart, the only issue was that he didn’t know _where_ it was.

“I don’t know how to get home,” Peter mumbled, and she nodded.

“‘Kay, cool, I can take you there if you want,” she offered, “what’s your name?”

He hesitated before answering her, “I’m Peter.”

“Okay, Peter,” she smiled warmly, “I’m Stacy, but you can just call me Skip.”

Peter gave her a tentative smile and nodded.

They walked together towards his apartment—Peter was pretty sure Skip seemed to understand he wasn’t up for that much talking, and so it was quiet.

He liked that.

Whenever he had to walk anywhere with Ms. Martha, she usually tried to talk about his interests, but Peter could tell she wasn’t interested in Legos or Iron Man like he was.

When Peter finally saw the familiar door to his home, he almost cried again.

Skip knocked on the door, and Aunt May greeted them, a worried frown replacing her usual happy smile.

“Hello? Did you need something?” May asked, “I’m looking for my nephew so now—”

Skip cut her off with an apologetic smile, “Peter, right? He’s right here, he was at the park.” 

She gently pushed Peter in front of May, and May looked at him, relief blooming all over her face as she pulled him into a hug.

“Hey, honey, you okay? Martha called me, she said you were _gone,”_ May whispered the last word, and Peter wished he hadn’t made his aunt worried like that.

He hugged May tighter. 

Safe. 

He was safe.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Auntie May,” he told her, “Skip walked me home.”

His aunt looked up at Skip, a grateful smile on her face.

“Thank you, thank you so much, honey,” May started, “I don’t know what would’ve happened…”

Skip gave her a sympathetic smile.

“It’s all good, Mrs. Parker, Peter’s so polite, he wasn’t a bother.”

Peter smiled at the praise, Skip was _so_ cool.

His aunt laughed, “Call me May dear, Mrs. Parker makes me feel so old.” 

Peter giggled until he realized something.

“Is Ms. Martha still gonna babysit me, Auntie May?” Peter asked, and he really hoped that his aunt would say no.

May frowned, “Maybe for another day honey, me and Ben can’t find another babysitter that fast.”

“If it’s alright, Mrs— _May,”_ Skip corrected herself at May’s raised eyebrow, “I can babysit for you, I have more free time now that school’s over.” 

“That’d be great, but are you sure about it, dear?”

Skip nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure, I don’t mind, Peter’s a cool kid.”

May thanked her again and Skip smiled.

Peter was happy too, Skip was so much nicer than his old babysitter.

Skip quickly wrote her number down for May, “Just let me know all the details, I’m here to help.”

“Of course, dear, I’ll have to let his uncle know first, but thank you again.”

Skip flashed another smile, waving goodbye at Peter and May before leaving.

“She’s awesome, Auntie May,” Peter said, and May laughed, nodding her agreement.

—

Skip came over the next day, carefully running through everything with Peter’s aunt and uncle before they left for their date night.

All the emergency contact numbers were pinned on the fridge, Peter’s extra inhaler was in the bathroom cupboard—and after that Peter stopped listening, choosing to watch his cartoons instead. 

“Be good, Pete! We’ll see you soon, bud!” Uncle Ben yelled his goodbye.

“Bye Uncle Ben, bye Auntie May!”

And then he went back to his cartoons again.

“So, what do you wanna do, sweetheart?” Skip asked, and Peter shrugged.

“Do you like Legos?” Peter asked, and Skip smiled.

“Course! I used them for one of my design classes once,” Skip answered, “it was so cool!”

Peter perked up with interest, _you could use Legos in school?_

Awesome.

“Woah, that’s cool!” Peter exclaimed, “I have this Star Wars one, can we build it right now?”

Skip nodded and Peter quickly snatched the box from his room.

“It’s this one, see,” Peter held up a box that read the _Imperial Landing Craft._

Skip grinned, “Alright Pete, let’s build some Legos!”

—

By the time the pair finished assembling the Legos, Peter realized two things.

One, he was really hungry.

And two, he was so amazed, the landing craft looked _so_ awesome.

Skip seemed to have the same idea as she carefully set aside the finished product on the coffee table.

“What do you want for dinner, Pete?”

“Is spaghetti okay?” Peter asked. “Uncle Ben said there were leftovers in the fridge.”

Skip nodded her agreement and headed towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Peter, the food’s warmed up,” Skip called from the kitchen and he dashed towards the table.

Peter was reaching out for his bowl when he felt her hand on his wrist.

“Shouldn’t I get a kiss on the cheek—for making you food?” She asked sweetly, a soft smile on her face.

Peter thought that was a little bit weird, but then again, he did kiss Aunt May’s cheek sometimes too.

He leaned over and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

By the time they finished dinner, Ben and May were already home.

“Skip, honey?” May called out, pulling out some money, “Here, this is for you.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I don’t—”

May shook her head, “We insist dear, thank you for helping on such a short notice, it means a lot.”

Skip hesitantly stashed the money in her wallet, “Of course, thank you, May.”

“Besides, I’d babysit Peter for free, he’s a sweetheart,” she added and grinned at Peter, “we’ll play with more Legos next time!”

Peter’s smile was full force when he looked at Skip.

“Bye, Skip!” 

**2009**  
—

After that, Peter spent most of his time with Skip.

They hung out on most days, both of them walking around Queens while Skip showed him the coolest places—she even bought him ice cream sometimes. 

Peter remembered this one time when Flash had seen him at the park, and he started teasing him about his glasses _again._

Skip had given him one look, and suddenly he was running off.

Man, she was so cool, she even gave him his own nickname!

According to her, he was _as smart, if not smarter, as Einstein,_ and it’s stuck ever since.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Skip greeted from the door, and by now Peter automatically knew to kiss her cheek.

He was so excited, it was movie night!

“Hey, Einstein,” Skip brought a wrapped box from behind her back, “I got this for you.”

Peter gasped, _“Wow!_ But wait, you didn’t need to do that, I don’t—”

Skip shook her head, and put the box into Peter’s hands.

“Nope, this is for you,” she insisted, a slight frown on her face, “don’t make me sad, Einstein.”

Peter nodded, he didn’t want to make her sad—he didn’t like making anybody sad—and reluctantly took the box from her, he’d have to open it later.

“Hey, can we watch Star Wars, Skip?” Peter asked, and he pouted when she shook her head again.

“Hey Peter, why don’t we watch something else tonight?” Skip offered instead.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows—what could be better than Star Wars?

But he nodded anyways, Skip always had the best ideas, and she also told him once he did too.

She said it’s why they were _best friends._

Skip smiled, but Peter thought there was something odd about her smile, he wasn’t sure what, but he felt uneasy.

“Okay, Einstein,” she whispered gently, “close your eyes.”

Peter hesitantly agreed, but before he closed his eyes, he saw the odd look she held in her eyes.

He didn’t like it.

“You can open them up now, sweetheart.”

Peter’s eyes were wide when he saw what Skip had put on the TV screen.

There were two naked people—Peter didn’t know what they were doing, but he didn’t like it, and he shielded his eyes from the screen.

Peter startled at the hand he felt on his knee, and he looked up at Skip.

She still had that weird look on her face.

“Um, Skip?” Peter whispered. “What’s—I don’t know, what is _that?”_

Skip grinned at Peter, her eyes were shining with this wild look in them—they reminded Peter of those nature documentaries he watched last week.

Where the lion stalked the gazelle on the African savanna.

Where the predator hunted prey. 

_“That.”_ Skip gestured to the TV. “Is what best friends do, Einstein.”

Peter knew he didn’t want to do that—even if best friends were supposed to do it.

She smiled at him, except this time it was too sweet—it was almost sickly. 

“This’ll be _our_ little secret, ‘kay?”

Peter tried to move out of her grip but he was frozen. Her hands were too tight on him. Why couldn’t he move?

He tried shaking his head, but he _couldn’t._

Skip was shorter than Uncle Ben, but now she looked taller, towering over Peter while he was trapped against the couch. 

Before Peter could even fully process what she was doing, she’d shoved a hand down his pants.

Skip was _touching_ him, and Peter couldn’t move, he couldn’t stop her, and all he wanted was for her to stop.

“No one’s gonna believe anything you say, _Einstein,”_ she smirked at him, “besides, if you tell your aunt and uncle…”

A choked sob came from Peter.

“Who’s gonna babysit you?” Skip asked. “Nobody wants to be friends with liars, Peter.”

No, no, he wasn’t a liar. Peter knew this wasn’t right.

Skip’s hands shouldn’t be all over him. They shouldn’t be touching him, the scent of orange blossom choking him, suffocating him.

Peter’s face was hot with tears, and all he wanted was for her to stop, stop, _stop!_

He sobbed, gasping for air.

Everything was still a blurry haze when he saw that Skip had stopped, her grip finally off him.

She wiped her hands off with a satisfied smile.

“Remember Einstein,” Skip smiled at him, “this is our little secret.”

Peter felt his stomach drop.

Skip wasn’t cool anymore.

Peter didn’t want to walk around anywhere with her, or hang out with her around Queens.

He just wanted her to leave. But he couldn’t do anything.

Peter had tried to tell his aunt one time—but every time he’d remember her voice, a shiver running up and down his spine.

_This is our little secret._

“Honey, what’s up?” 

Peter looked at his aunt. 

“I—I’m just tired, Auntie May,” he shrugged.

 _I just want Skip to go, Auntie May._

They still walked around Queens, but he tried his best to keep his distance from her.

Whenever she came over, he would stay in his room.

Skip didn’t say anything about it, and whenever Ben and May got home, she acted like everything was normal—like she hadn’t done _that_ to him.

“He was a sweetheart like usual,” Skip smiled, “isn’t that right, Einstein?”

Peter nodded, a tight smile on his face.

“Right.”

_This is our little secret._

Right now he was sitting on the couch, while Skip was on the armchair across from him.

“Peter.”

He didn’t respond to her.

“Einstein.”

A feeling of dread ran through him hearing that nickname, and he looked up at her.

Skip stared at him, her gaze was cold, calculating like _that_ night, and his heart felt heavy in his chest..

“I’m moving, soon,” she smiled.

The warmth her smiles used to hold didn’t exist anymore, if it was ever even real.

“Do you wanna keep in _touch?”_

Peter didn’t like the way she said _touch,_ he didn’t like the way she said anything.

“No—no, I don’t,” he mumbled, staring at his hands.

“Aw, that’s a shame,” Skip looked at him, “you were a good best friend.”

_Best friends don’t do that. Best friends don’t do that. Best friends don’t do that._

Peter glanced at the clock.

His aunt and uncle would be home in five minutes.

“Anyways,” Skip continued, “since I’m going, you’re promising me one thing, Peter.”

He stared at her, what else could she want from him?

 _“What?”_

Her smile was shark-like.

“You promise to _never_ tell anyone what happened.”

Peter froze. That wasn’t right, nothing about this was right.

“Don’t waste your time, Einstein,” she told him, “no one will believe you.”

He nodded.

“Besides, this is our…” Skip looked at Peter expectantly.

“Our little secret.” Peter finished, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Skip smiled at him again.

“Promise?”

He gulped.

“Promise.”

 **2017**  
—

Hiding was something that Peter had mastered.

Suppress, suppress, suppress.

Maybe that’s why he was Spider-Man.

Nobody knew what was truly happening behind the mask when Spider-Man swung around Queens, not even Mr. Stark, May or Ned.

It was just him behind the mask.

It was just Peter.

But Peter couldn’t hide forever.

Whenever everything was too quiet, he was hit by everything—his past, his heightened senses, _everything._

The sickly sweet smell of orange blossoms, the last heartbeats of Uncle Ben before he was claimed by death, concrete constricting his chest when the building crushed him.

When he looked back at it now, it wasn’t normal how Skip always seemed to be touching him, no matter where they are.

An arm around his shoulders, a hand on his back—she was constantly near him.

Now she was gone. 

And Peter wanted to tell someone, _needed_ to tell someone.

But when he tried, that little voice always came back, lingering in his head.

_This is our little secret._

He couldn’t tell anyone.

“Peter?” Karen called out, and he jumped, suddenly realizing where he was.

He was patrolling, or he _should_ be patrolling.

“Yeah, Karen?” Peter answered, instinctively looking around the place for any trouble.

She seemed to hesitate—could AI’s hesitate?—before speaking again.

“Are you okay? Your heart rate has sped up significantly despite you only sitting here.”

No, he’s not okay.

“Yeah, I’m perfect,” he answered her, “any disturbances?”

A pause, “No, there’s currently no—” 

Peter heard the scream before he saw anything, the unadulterated terror made his blood run cold, and he was already moving towards the area.

When he reached the destination Karen had highlighted, he stopped outside the apartment window.

The sight made his stomach turn.

There was a boy, a teenager that looked around _his_ age, a small child pinned underneath him.

_Orange blossoms. Tight hands. Frozen, he couldn’t move._

Peter couldn’t let this happen again, _wouldn’t_ let this happen again, not when he had the ability to stop it.

“Karen. I need you to switch the web functions to Web Grenade,” he asked her, “then back to normal, okay?”

His AI hummed her agreement and Peter pried the window open.

He immediately aimed his webshooters towards the teenager, effectively sticking him to the wall.

“Spider—”

Peter silenced him with his webs before facing the child.

“Hey, hey,” he started, “breathe, you’re safe, yeah?”

The kid nodded, his eyes teary and Peter felt his heart wrench.

“What’s your name, buddy?”

“Lucas,” he whispered, “my name’s Lucas.”

Peter nodded, “Okay, Lucas, I’m Spider-Man, and I’m here to help you, okay?”

Lucas nodded, and Peter noticed the fearful glance he sent to the guy on the wall.

“You don’t have to stay in here,” Peter told him, “you wanna head outside instead?”

Lucas gave him a grateful nod and they walked out into the hallway, away from his attacker.

“Hey, buddy, I need your help,” he said and Lucas looked up at him, “is it okay if you answer some questions for me?”

Lucas nodded, and he took a deep breath.

“Who is he?”

Lucas paused before answering, “He’s—he’s um, my babysitter.”

Peter’s stomach dropped but he nodded. 

“Has he done this before?” Peter asked, his heart racing in his chest.

“I—he said I couldn’t…” Lucas trailed off, and Peter’s heart sank.

_This is our little secret._

Peter shivered. 

He kneeled down so he was eye level with Lucas.

“Buddy, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Peter told him.

Lucas nodded, grabbing his hand and Peter gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“If anyone ever tells you that,” Peter paused, “that’s something’s a secret, it’s _not.”_

_This is our little secret._

Lucas stared down at the ground. “He—he touched me, one time before.”

Peter’s heart hurt.

“Thank you for trusting me, buddy.” Peter told him, and Lucas gave him a small smile.

Peter squeezed his hand again, “The police are on their way, I’ll wait with you, okay?”

Lucas nodded.

_This is our little secret._

“Spider-Man,” Lucas started, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Peter answered, his voice slightly shaky.

“Your hands are shaking.”

Peter looked at his hands—they _were_ shaking.

“Are _you_ okay?” Peter asked instead.

Lucas gave him a soft smile, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay—cause you helped me.”

“Then I’m okay, too.” Peter told him, returning his smile.

The two sat there in comfortable silence, side by side until the police finally showed up.

“Hey officers,” Peter greeted them, “bad guy’s in there.”

He quickly explained what had happened to the police before turning to Lucas.

“Spider-Man’s gotta go see if there’s anything else going on in Queens,” Peter told him, “so I gotta swing, okay?”

Lucas grinned, waving Peter goodbye as he watched him swing out the window.

Peter swung onto the apartment rooftop, taking in the scene before him.

He could hear New York traffic, the wind rushing in his ears, people talking—practically yelling.

Then everything came back to him, and Peter broke.

What if he hadn’t gotten there in time? What if something worse had happened to Lucas? 

What if— 

_That_ night came back to him again. 

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe.

“Peter?” He heard his AI’s voice, but it sounded like she was speaking underwater.

Breathe. 

He needed to breathe, but he couldn’t, not when her hands were all over him, not when— 

“Peter!”

He gasped, his lungs relieved at the air he managed to inhale.

“Yeah, Karen?” Peter answered, cursing at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“Your heart rate is abnormally fast again,” she informed him, “I think it’s better if you cancel lab day, and go home instead.”

No, he couldn’t cancel lab day. Everybody would ask why, and what could he say to that?

How could he bring himself to say something now, after eight years.

Who would believe him?

_No one’s gonna believe anything you say._

“Peter, I really think—”

He shook his head.

“No, no, it’s all good,” he told Karen as he started swinging towards the Tower, “I’m _fine.”_

Karen spoke again, softer this time, “Peter, are you sure you’re okay?”

Peter sighed. He really wasn’t. But when was the last time he truly was okay?

_Before Skip._

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered, “I’m okay.”

Peter could tell she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t say anything else, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Suppress, suppress, suppress.

—

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” Peter yelled from the window.

Tony jumped as he flipped into the lab.

“Kid, warn your old man will you, fragile heart and all,” Tony scolded, but Peter saw the warm grin on his face.

“Sorry,” he grinned, “maybe it’s time for you to retire.”

Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Hey kid,” Tony started, pointing at Peter’s head, “what a with the mask hair?”

Peter stared at the mask in his hands before looking at Tony again.

“At least my hair doesn’t have grease in it,” he deadpanned, and Tony gasped.

“Were you always this disrespectful? It’s Rhodey’s fault isn’t it—I’m telling Pepper.”

Peter smiled triumphantly, “Ms. Potts adores me.”

Tony sighed, affection shining in his warm eyes.

“You get a Spiderling in your life and now look,” Tony griped, “everyone’s against you.”

Peter stuck his tongue out at him, and Tony laughed.

“Whatcha wanna do today, kiddie?”

Peter shrugged, and Tony gave him an odd look—had his kid been crying?—before listing off some options.

“Explode something, attempt to cook, hey, how about a movie night?”

Peter grinned, “Can we watch Onward?”

“The movie with that blue elf that sounds scarily like you?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s the one,” Peter answered and Tony grinned.

—

One time when Peter had been younger, he got bored watching TV all day.

So he looked around his room, found a balloon he’d been using earlier for a science project—and filled it up with water.

He watched as the balloon grew before carefully tying it off, and he grabbed it out of the sink.

But he misjudged the weight of the balloon and it slipped from his hands, water exploding everywhere.

He remembered crying, while May hugged him, assuring him he was okay, and Ben was wiping up the water.

_“Too much pressure, Pete, everything’s got their breaking point.”_

When Peter walked into the living room, he finally popped.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, shit, why did his voice sound like that?

“What’s that smell?”

Tony raised a curious eyebrow, “Uh, orange blossom I think—Pep said she wanted to _liven_ up the place.”

Peter stopped.

Spider-Man was strong. Peter Parker was strong. He could stop a moving bus—he could hold a falling elevator.

But now he was seven again. And Skip had her hands everywhere, down his pants, all over his body.

And the smell of her orange blossom perfume was choking him.

“Peter?”

_Remember, Einstein…_

“Hello?”

_This is our little secret._

“Peter!”

He jumped at the hand on his shoulder, too much like the hand that had been on his knee.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” Peter sobbed, and Tony backed away, eyes wide at the venom in his voice.

He choked, gasping for air, he was trapped again, defenseless against unwanted touches and roaming hands.

“Kid,” Tony whispered, “look at me, Peter, please.”

Peter looked at him, heart pounding in his ears.

Breathe. Shit, he really wanted to breathe.

“Easy kiddo, breathe in four,” Tony counted, “hold four, out four.”

Peter tried his best, following Tony’s voice as he counted.

In four. Hold four. Out four.

Peter didn’t know how long he sat there, listening to Tony’s voice as he finally managed to catch his breath again.

He saw all the worried glances Tony had sent him.

_This is our little secret._

Peter shook his head. 

No, not anymore. He couldn’t let her control him like this anymore.

“Mr. Stark,” his voice was hoarse, “can we go back to the lab—I need to tell you something.” 

Tony nodded, an arm out to reach his shoulders before he stopped himself.

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter told him, leaning into his touch, “thanks.”

“Always, kid.”

The walk to the lab was quiet, but as soon as he could smell the oil mixed with pine—he was pretty sure it was Mr. Stark’s cologne—he relaxed.

“So…” 

Tony looked at him, “So?”

He remembered what he had told Lucas earlier.

It’s not a secret, it’s not a secret, _it’s not a secret._

“Kiddie, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to, y’know?”

Peter nodded, then he took a deep breath.

“There was this—this babysitter I had when I was seven,” he started, “her name was Skip.”

His heart raced but he kept talking, she couldn’t do this to him anymore.

“She had this perfume, orange blossom.” 

Peter watched as recognition dawned in Tony’s eyes.

“And one night she told me instead of watching Star Wars, we’d do something _best friends,”_ the words tasted bitter in his mouth, “only do.”

“Kiddo, I—” Peter shook his head.

“She _touched_ me, Mr. Stark,” he uttered the words out loud for the first time, “she assaulted me, and I couldn’t move.”

Peter’s heart was pounding, tears stinging his eyes.

“I should have,” he hiccuped, “should have done something I—”

Tony shook his head, “Kid, you can’t blame yourself for that.”

He hiccuped again.

“She said it was our little secret.”

Peter’s face was soaked with tears but he didn’t sob.

_No one’s gonna believe anything you say._

“I can’t believe,” Tony started, and Peter’s heart jumped, “no, I _believe_ you but, God, kiddo.”

“I—can I hug you?” Tony whispered, a hand running through his hair. 

Peter nodded, automatically sinking into Tony’s warm embrace.

Safe.

“Kid, have you told anyone this before?” Tony asked carefully, and he shook his head.

Tony looked at Peter, pain in his chest that somebody had violated _his_ kid like that.

He ran a hand through his curly hair, his kid who was so strong, his kid who hid that for years.

God, how could someone do that?

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Peter’s head.

Tony’s mind was already racing, thinking of what he could to help Peter—to help his kid.

Skip, who was Skip and how could she have done this to him.

But wait, therapy, would Peter even want therapy? 

May. Did he want May to know?

Tony knew for sure he’d have to change the air freshener.

“Kid, is there anything I can do right now?”

Peter looked at him, and Tony saw the storm in his eyes that finally broke.

“Um, can we just hug for now?” Peter asked, a soft smile on his face when Tony nodded.

Holy shit, he did it.

Peter didn’t hide this time, he didn’t suppress the ghost that had been haunting him since that night.

Peter wasn’t sure if he’d be able to feel the same, but he _would_ try to get better.

He felt decent now but he couldn’t guarantee it tomorrow, and that was okay.

He would heal.

“Mr. Stark?”

Peter took a deep breath, and for once his chest felt lighter.

“Yeah, kiddie?” Tony answered.

“I feel—I feel lighter, like I’m actually breathing right.”

Tony hugged him tighter, “I’m so proud of you.”

Peter breathed.

He was a survivor.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m sending my love to whoever’s reading this, stay strong. <3000


End file.
